It didn’t take Sabriya long to track down the Pohan pharmacy, or pothecary, as its proprietor called it, in the rubble of Meijing’s shack settlement. There, on the front, next to the nondescript door, which needed painting, was the mortar-and-pestle badge with the interlocking letters “PP” embossed on the side of the mortar, probably for Pohan Pothecary. Under the badge, a name plate, “Dr. Sanjay Shin, Chemist.”
The two windows facing the single-lane, crumbling-asphalt street had their shutters swung closed. The drug shop, or whatever you might call it, did not look open or inviting.
Before removing her helmet, Sabriya confirmed with Landon that she had arrived, which he already knew. Dismounting her SEC, she checked that her P250’s safety was off, the chamber loaded, and a full clip was firmly seated into the grip.
Although the settlement shacks were close, there was a narrow walking path to the rear of the Pothecary shack. She crept down the path and noted that a rear entrance had access to an alley. But wherever she looked, there were no vehicles or cycles present. Perhaps the proprietor lived on the premises, or he and any assistants walked to work. It was the same situation she encountered in Yung Fa Ho: no vehicles except the frog van, and suddenly, three goons showed up and attacked her. She had a sense the girls might be, would be, or had been here. For the first time, her lack of preparation became apparent. If she found both girls, she could only transport one on the back of her cycle, or perhaps the second would fit on her lap, but at what cost to steering? And if the girls were sedated, as they likely were, what then? They’d be rag dolls trying to ride a cycle astride. Wait! She thought. I’m overthinking this. I have to find the girls first.
Back at the shack’s front, she found the entrance unlocked. She stepped inside, her P250 at the ready. A waiting area, half a dozen chairs all empty. A counter, but no receptionist. An inside door that led into the back was locked. Only one way forward. She sat on the counter, swung her legs through the reception opening, and dropped down on the other side. Stepping past a few file cabinets and a desk, she came through an open doorway to a larger, well-lit room that was surprisingly modern, and contrary to the place’s disarming outward appearance. The room appeared to be a chemistry lab—apparatus, shelving, a couple of workbench stations with microscopes, and on a metal workbench, a lit Bunsen burner sat under a glass flask on a stand, boiling colorless liquid. Ten meters away, a stocky man in a white lab coat, his back to Sabriya, was bent over a humming machine that was printing out a strip of paper. Apparently, Dr. Shin was all alone in the building.
Sabriya decided to announce her presence. She navigated between workbenches and approached the man. At a lab table next to her, she slammed a partially open drawer shut. Shin turned suddenly and faced the woman five meters away in military fatigues with a Sig Sauer P250 aimed directly and confidently at his midsection. He was shocked, of course, but also very angry, or was that how he looked all the time? His recessed, baggy eyes were dark and a bit bloodshot. Was he on a stimulant? She didn’t know, but if he was, his reactions could be a lot faster than hers. Better anticipate.
“Sanjay Shin?” she demanded, the pistol held at her waist pointed at his gut.
“Who are you?” he asked without answering.
“I’m looking for two young girls, 12-years-old. One’s my daughter. Have you seen them?”
That got the man’s attention. He jerked slightly. He has seen them, she thought. His eyes shifted, and his body followed, as if he considered running through the door behind and to his left. Who’s there? she wondered. Suddenly, a slightly overweight, short, unarmed woman stepped into the doorway. Sabriya slightly panned her gun’s barrel at the woman, who immediately ducked back into the room out of sight. Better be prepared if she shows up again with artillery, Sabriya mused, pivoting her P250 back at Shin.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
But he did. His tone was a ruse, a ploy, a cryptic attempt at distraction. The feminine gatecrasher in camouflage with a gun was polite. “Where are they? Here?”
“No. Gone an hour ago.” The honest answer, after the lie, was a mistake.
Sabriya was not a crack shot, but the 9mm round that suddenly escaped her P250’s muzzle and shattered a beaker of liquid, a meter to Shin’s left, was enough.
His reactions, for a heavy man dressed for church in a shirt and tie but for the lab coat, were nimble. A quick step to his right, he grabbed a corked glass bottle and side-armed it at Sabriya with extraordinary speed and precision.
Sabriya casually stepped aside as the bottle of Hydrogen Fluoride acid flew past and crashed on the metal workbench behind her. Reacting with the metal benchtop, the acid effervesced, producing a cloud of flammable colorless gas that, when it reached the open flame of the Bunsen burner, exploded. The explosion was a distraction to the man, but not to the mother searching for her daughter. Frantic, the white-capped proprietor grabbed a meter-long steel clamp stand and swung it wildly at the intruder. But Sabriya, not wanting to shoot and kill the man who had information she wanted, instinctively holstered her pistol and parkoured onto a workbench, jumping over Shin’s vicious swings at her shins. At the right moment, she roundhoused her left foot at the man’s head and connected with a thump. Shin’s face went blank, his eyeballs rolled back in their sockets, his outstretched arms flailed in circles for a moment, and then his body went stiff and fell back onto the floor with a thud. Looking down from her perch at the unconscious chemist lying on the floor, Sabriya realized he was as useless as if he had been shot.
All was quiet for a minute when a shy feminine voice spoke up from the doorway to the adjacent room. “Ma’am, can I help you?”
Sabriya turned to see the woman who had appeared earlier. Was she a lab assistant? She looked frightened … not of Sabriya but of something greater. Sabriya jumped off the bench, stepped toward the woman, who had tears in her eyes and bruises on her face and neck, then turned the tables. “How can I help you?”
The woman glanced at the man lying on the floor, shuddered, and stepped closer to Sabriya as if seeking protection. Sabriya took the woman’s shaking hands to comfort her and gazed into her eyes, but the woman looked down and away, having learned to avoid eye contact with those in authority over her. Sabriya, although a bit taller, was much younger.
“Do you want to get away…to a safe place?” Sabriya asked.
The woman dared to look Sabriya in the eyes, unwilling to believe the offer.
“What’s your name?” Sabriya asked softly, trying again to break through.
The woman inched closer and whispered, “Anya.”
“Is anyone else in the building or nearby … that you fear?”
Anya, again, glanced at the man, then slowly shook her head.
“Were two young girls here earlier today?”
Anya nodded and asked, “Are you looking for your daughter?”
Sabriya’s heart skipped a beat—the trail was fresh. “Yes, 12-years-old, with a friend, same age.”
Anya nodded again, with greater confidence. “Maybe I can help you.”
“Are they here now?”
Anya shook her head.
“Where are they?”
Anya shrugged her shoulders.
“Can I take you someplace safe?”
Anya nodded as tears filled her eyes with hope.
“Did they force you to take medicine, drugs, or inject you?”
Anya shook her head vigorously. “No, I learned that beatings were far better than druggings. They also needed my brain to do the work I do. My bruises will heal. I eat well.”
“Okay, let’s get out of here.”
Sabriya quickly looked around the lab and guided Anya toward the front door. But Anya suddenly broke away and trotted toward the side room she had come from. Sabriya started to follow her, but Anya quickly returned, clutching some papers, and looked toward the front. Sabriya took Anya’s hand, and the two women literally ran out of the building.
But as they did, Sabriya heard an approaching siren—a police siren.
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